


Blood and Souls

by Caelore, shadow_faye



Series: Bound by Blood [1]
Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Backstory, Canon-Typical Violence, Pre-Raijinshu, Pre-Series, Raijinshuu - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-13 20:24:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7985077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caelore/pseuds/Caelore, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_faye/pseuds/shadow_faye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gasping for air, he gave the great timber a struggled heave, finally hoisting it enough to slip out from beneath it. The scrawny boy shuffled aside before the beam crashed to the ground, kicking up dust and debris. As he choked on the airborne sediment, he wiped his eyes and stared in terror. The home he had loved, where he had spent all his life with his family, was nothing but ash and broken planks, some still burning away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to shadow_faye, for being my constant motivation and supporter. You rock.

Gasping for air, he gave the great timber a struggled heave, finally hoisting it enough to slip out from beneath it. The scrawny boy shuffled aside before the beam crashed to the ground, kicking up dust and debris. As he choked on the airborne sediment, he wiped his eyes and stared in terror. The home he had loved, where he had spent all his life with his family, was nothing but ash and broken planks, some still burning away.

Swallowing back tears, he frantically searched through the rubble. He just had to find her. His voice failed him as he tried to call out to her, his words spilling forth as unintelligible screeches. _Where is she?!_ The smoke in the air masked the fleeting daylight, only heightening his desperation. Shifting, shoving, digging. His hands stung, splinters pricking his fingertips, but he refused to stop until he found her.

Everything was gone. The furniture, nothing but charred frames. His mother's trinkets, his father's carving tools, his grandfather's baubles, all burned to ashes.About to give up hope, he forced himself to keep going. Somehow, the enormous wooden door to their cellar had escaped destruction, resting upon a pile of wreckage. Mustering the last of his strength, he uneasily slid the door aside, revealing a grotesque sight. Falling to his knees, the tears he had restrained freed themselves, plummeting to the dusty ground.

“M-mom!” His body quivered as he cried her name, knowing she could not hear him. Trembling, he crawled to her side, where she laid motionless. He snatched her wrist up in his hands, desperately hoping to feel her pulse between his fingers. “Mom!” He cried out again, giving her lifeless body a futile shake. “Mom, please, wake up,” he begged, but his plea was too little, too late. She was gone.

When he realized she was not going to wake up again, he crumpled beside her, clinging to her, praying for the safety of her embrace. As he gave her a squeeze between sobs, he heard a strange sound, like the plink of something small and hollow hitting the ground. Again, the sound echoed beside him. Curious, he sat up, wiping away the moisture from his cheek. Tucked beneath his mother's scorched arm, he found a set of wooden totems, five in total. He recalled these fondly, he had watched his father meticulously carve them for hours at a time, however, he could not understand why they were undamaged. Picking up the smallest one, he stared angrily at its smile. _Why? Why did you survive this, but not her?! How dare you smile at me!_

As rage welled up within him, he grunted and chucked the small wooden puppet across the room, watching it bounce and roll across the floor. _Why did you save these, and not yourself?!_ He had seen it all, until she had told him to run and hide. The fire wasn't what killed her, _his own grandfather had done all this._

He snatched another figure from her arms, but as he was about to throw it, it began to glow a faint green. “Wh-what?” He stared at the effigy in his hand for a long moment, until a searing pain on his forehead distracted him. His fingers instinctively traced along the bridge of his nose, his skin ached beneath his fingertips. “What happened... to my face...?” Glancing around the rubble, he found a shard of broken glass. As he gazed at his reflection, he was shocked by what he saw. Stretched across his face was a black figure, where his skin had previously been bare. He scrubbed his hands across the mark, but it remained. Screaming angrily at the marked boy in the mirror, the tears fell once more. He knew all too well that the mark would never go away, that he was permanently branded by his grandfather's evil magic.

Seething with rage for his ancestor, he turned back to the puppets, which all pulsed with the dim glow. “What the hell?” he whispered, crawling across the floor to reclaim the one he had tossed. Picking it up, he turned it over in his hands, examining it closely. He could not understand what was so special about these dolls, or how anything could smile after what had just happened. With a loud sniffle, the figures started to levitate, hovering just above the ground, causing him to jolt and stumble backwards.

Staring at the small puppets as they started to dance around him, he found himself motionless, unable to look away as the corpse before him radiated with light. Her body was engulfed in emerald brilliance, trails of light swirling about her. The shimmering rays grouped together above her, creating a massive orb. As his eyes focused to the sheer brightness before him, the orb raced towards him, colliding with the totem he held in his hand. Looking up, he saw four more large orbs float in from the street and crash into the other figurines, finally noticing that the destruction extended far beyond his own home. Suddenly, he realized what was so special about these pieces. These were not the toys his father typically crafted, these were vessels for souls.

He gulped as he realized he was holding a life in his hands, literally. The effigy, no longer glowing, drifted into the air in front of him, its painted eyes staring back at his own.

“Bicks...low...?” The voice was weak and distorted, but he would always know who it belonged to. Grabbing the figure, he clenched it close to his chest, crying as he squeezed it tightly.

“I'm here, Mom,” he squealed between bursts of sobbing. “I'll keep you safe, I promise.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

He wandered eastward from his decimated home in Amefurashi Village for days, eventually finding himself in the port town of Hargeon. The newly filled soul vessels followed him, against his will at first, but as they lingered by his side, he was thankful that he wasn't completely alone. Yes, one of the souls trapped inside the wooden dolls was that of his departed mother, but shortly after her soul attached to the grotesque marionette, her memories faded away. No longer was she the mother he had loved, but instead a generic puppet with the attention span of a child, its distorted voice mimicking his when he spoke to her. He had no idea who the other souls had belonged to, but he had promised to keep them safe when they chose to follow him.

Bickslow sighed, sliding into a chair at a table in the darkest corner of the first restaurant he found in Hargeon. He was famished, having fasted since he started walking. His new travel companions drifted nearby, finally settling on the tabletop. Carefully picking them up, he stacked them in a pyramid as if they had been building blocks, surprised to find they enjoyed the attention as they purred almost inaudibly in his hands.

“I like your puppets,” a soft voice hummed behind him cheerfully. He turned to see a girl no older than twelve standing there, a serving tray tucked beneath her arm and a pad of paper in her other hand. “Can I get you anything?”

“Oh, um, water please?” he mumbled as his stomach rumbled, the waitress muffling a laugh as she heard it bellowing.

“And to eat?” she chortled, trying not to laugh as he blushed, but failing.

“What's good here?” he hadn't realized just how hungry he was. After not eating in days, he grew accustomed to ignoring his body. Now that he could smell the aromas wafting from the kitchen, he was painfully reminded.

“Do you like noodles? We have the best noodles in Hargeon,” she beamed.

“Sure, that,” he nodded slightly, then rested his head in his arms on the table.

“I'll be right back with that water.” She turned and rushed to the kitchen, placing the order ticket in the queue for the chef before returning with a tall glass of ice water. Guzzling it quickly, he gasped in relief as the cool liquid quenched his parched body.

“Thanks,” he blurted as he finished the glass not seconds after she placed it on the table. To their surprise, the five totems echoed his thank you.

“Wow, they can talk too?!” The waitress shuffled into the seat across from him, enamored by the puppets' speech.

“Uhm, yeah, I guess they can,” he shrugged, scratching his head as the girl examined them closely.

“These are magic, aren't they?” Her gaze meeting his, he saw her eyes sparkle with excitement as he nodded slowly. He couldn't help but smile a bit as she greeted the puppets, each one returning her hello. “Do they have names?”

“Y-yeah.” Bickslow picked up the one with a red mask and set it on the table in front of the waitress, turning its face towards her. “This one is Pippi.”

“Nice to meet you, Pippi,” she smiled. He sighed, feeling a wave of sadness in his heart. Pippi was his mother's name. Although the puppet no longer remembered being his mother, he felt it would be wrong to call it anything else. His sadness was disrupted as he heard the soft voice pipe up again. “What about the others? What are their names?”

“I don't know,” he mumbled. He hadn't even thought of naming the others. He knew the souls belonged to his neighbors, but he had no way to tell which one was which now that they had forgotten themselves. The young girl delicately picked up the smiling totem, holding it up for Bickslow to see.

“What about 'Pappa' for this one?” she blushed as he pondered the suggestion.

“I like that,” he nodded, a smirk flashing between his cheeks. “This one looks like a 'Peppe,' don't you think?” She giggled, delighted to help him name his toys. Together they decided the other two would be called 'Poppo' and 'Puppu' to complete the set.

“Your babies are so cute,” she grinned, returning them to the stack he had them in. As she set Pippi on top of the stack, an irritated voice bellowed from the kitchen.

“Girl! Get over here!” Realizing she kept the cook waiting, she bowed her head to the young boy politely, rushing to grab his food from the counter.

“Babies. I like that,” he whispered to himself before she returned with a heaping plate of noodles.

“Pardon me,” she whispered softly, her cheeks a soft pink as her hands nervously fidgeted with the hem of her apron. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure?” he looked up, slightly confused as he dragged his fork across his plate, churning the long pasta.

“I'm about to take my break. Do you mind if I sit with you?” Her eyes were transfixed on the floor as she waited silently for him to respond, seemingly embarrassed for asking.

“Mmhmm,” he mumbled as he stuffed an overloaded fork into his mouth to hide his own blushing.

“Thanks, I'll be right back,” she replied softly as she turned back to the kitchen. She returned with a small plate of noodles herself, silently slipping into place across the table from him with a smile. By the time she returned he had finished most of his meal, his mind becoming sharper now that hunger was not clouding it, noticing details he had not before.

“You kicked their ass, right?” he asked suddenly, his question startling her.

“E-excuse me?”

“That.” He pointed to a long scar down the side of her face, narrowly missing her right eye. Following the mark with his eye, he noticed another along the base of her neck. She sighed, understanding what he was referring to, shaking her head softly. “How'd you get those?”

“It was my mom, actually.” Suddenly, he felt terrible for pointing them out, her smile faded as she seemed to become lost in thought. He could not fathom the idea of any mother hurting her own child, until he was reminded of what he had witnessed his grandfather do.

“I'm sorry,” he muttered shamefully, then pointed to the black figure across his face. “This is a scar too, if you believe that.”

“No way,” she scoffed, looking closely at the marking. “A tattoo, maybe. It looks too awesome to be a scar.”

“Believe it. This is what dark magic can do.”

“If that's from dark magic, then you're lucky. You must be really strong to have survived that.”

_Lucky. That's not what he would call it._ It wasn't until he heard this kind stranger mention it that he realized he hadn't been thankful for what his mother did. She gave her life so he could live, and in a way, it did make him feel strong. Reminding himself that he had a duty to protect what was left of her, he grinned from ear to ear, his ego swelling suddenly.

“You're damn right,” he chuckled, inciting a laugh from the girl.

“Thanks for lunch,” she winked as she rose from the table. “I should get back to work.”

“Any time,” he returned her wink, watching as she walked away, pleased by the view. Despite the scars, he found her to be pretty cute. Somehow this girl had made him feel better, although his entire world had been shattered just a few days prior. Chuckling as she waved to him before going into the kitchen for another party's meal, he decided to wait around for a while, in case he got the chance to talk to her again. However, his pleasant daydream was disrupted when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Excuse me,” the voice began, Bickslow turning to face it. It belonged to a boy about his age, his long green hair pulled back in a tidy pony-tail, a crisp scarlet coat fitting snugly on his small frame. “Are you a wizard?”

Bickslow scoffed audibly, annoyed at being compared to those evil magical beings. His grandfather was a wizard, and he never wanted to be reminded of what a wizard could do. Sure, his grandfather had started passing his seith magic knowledge onto him, but Bickslow would have never considered himself to be one. “Go away.”

“I can tell you possess a great deal of magical energy. Tell me, are you a wizard?” the boy asked again, his tone slightly annoyed at being told to leave.

“I said go away,” the slightly older boy snapped, however, the smaller boy held his ground, his pleasant smile giving way to a scowl.

“I do detest being ignored,” the boy grumbled, his hand gripping the hilt of the sword on his belt firmly. When Bickslow saw him reach for a weapon, something broke inside him. The last thing he wanted to do was fight, but after being helpless before, he could not restrain himself. Leaping from his seat, he swung his fists wildly at the olive-headed boy. He wanted to hurt him. He wanted someone to feel the pain he was feeling inside, and this boy just happened to aggravate him.

In his rage, Bickslow punched and lunged, but none of his throws made contact with the agile runt that stood before him. Before he knew it, the boy had drawn his sword. As it slashed towards him, he expected the pain of the blade to rip him open. However, the sting of steel was never felt. Instead, the boy shouted an incantation, then strange violet symbols danced in the air and rushed towards him, latching onto his chest.

“Dark Écriture: Suffering!” The words of the mage's incantation rang in Bickslow's ears. His world grew dark, his body crumpling to the floor as a tortuous scream escaped on his breath.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

As the glimmering runes settled on Bickslow's chest, he fell immediately to the floor in a pathetic heap. To the other diners, the boy appeared to be dead or comatose, but that was far from the truth. Though his body lay motionless, in his mind he was reliving the nightmare he had just escaped from as if it was happening all over again, his body feeling each pain once more.

 

It had felt like any other day. His father was away on business with the merchant guild he was a founding member of, while he was home with his mother and grandfather. Bickslow's grandfather was teaching him about seith magic, a dark art lost to the world but kept alive within his family. The young boy was uneasy about this form of sorcery, but knew that the responsibility fell to him to make sure it was not forgotten.

“G-granddad? Do I really need to know this?” Bickslow quivered as his grandfather told him of a spell that could be used to turn a wizard's own magic against him, causing it to implode within the wizard's body.

“Of course, my boy. As a seith mage, you will need to know all manner of spells. Although, hopefully you will never have to use them.” His grandfather smiled warmly to his thirteen year old grandson. “True strength lies in knowledge.”

“Yessir,” he pouted as he accepted his elder's words. As he started practicing the spell, a soft knock on the workshop door distracted him.

“Excuse me, boys,” a cheerful voice said softly. Bickslow turned to see his mother, an envelope in her hands. “Bickslow, could you give me a moment with your grandfather?”

“Sure,” he nodded slightly, stepping out into the hallway and pulling the door shut behind him. Something felt off. He noticed that behind her smile, her eyes looked worried. Silently, he knelt down beside the door, putting his ear against it.

“What's wrong, Pippi?” he overheard his grandfather say, his tone annoyed. She was his daughter in-law, and because she was not his blood relative, he cared for her very little. He also hated being interrupted.

“This letter just came. It's from the guild.” Her voice cracked as she spoke.

“So? We get letters from the merchants all the time.”

“It's not from him though. I'm worried. When he's gone this long, he usually writes to us. But there's been nothing, and this letter is from the guild master.” The old man's eyebrow flared up, both aggravated and concerned. She had a habit of overreacting, and this was likely no different. However, the guild master typically did not write to members' families.

“Give me that,” he snapped, snatching the envelope from her hands, quickly tearing it open. As his eyes raced across the parchment, his face went white with shock.

“What is it?” she asked hesitantly, picking up the paper from the floor after the elder had dropped it. She quickly read the words scribbled across the paper and fell to her knees, disbelieving tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. “N-no...”

Bickslow scooted to peer through the keyhole to see what was going on inside as he heard his mother burst into tears. His grandfather stood from his chair, pacing angrily around the room.

“My son,” the silver-headed man began to mutter, his voice breaking. “Not my son!” he scowled, swiping his arm angrily at the workbench, knocking half-finished sculptures to the floor.

“I-I don't understand,” she stammered. “B-bandits?”

“This is your fault!” he turned to the kneeling woman, shoving the chair across the room. “He grew soft because of you! Because of you he gave up on magic and turned to what, woodworking? Toy making?! This is all your fault, you stupid wretch!”

Through the keyhole, Bickslow watched helplessly as his grandfather rushed towards his mother, grabbing a handful of her hair and throwing her by it. He gasped as her body hit the floor loudly.

“My son! My only son! He's dead because of you!” the elder bellowed, his eyes full of rage as they shifted from their normal crimson to bright green. Bickslow knew just what that glow in his irises meant.

“No! STOP!” Bickslow threw the door open, slamming it against the wall as he rushed in front of his mother.

“Get out of the way, boy!”

“No! Leave mom alone!”

“If that's what you wish,” he growled, a wrinkled smirk forming on his lips. The old man looked right into Bickslow's eyes, whispering, “Figure Eyes.”

Before Bickslow knew what was happening, his body moved on its own. It rushed towards his mother, who was pulling herself up to her feet, and knocked her back down. The old man laughed as his grandson punched the woman on the floor repeatedly, according to his will.

“M-mom! I- I can't stop! I'm- I'm so sorry!” Bickslow whimpered as his fists crashed against her body. She struggled to protect herself from the blows, fully aware that her beloved son was now a puppet, a play-thing for her father in-law.

“I forgive you, my son,” she whispered weakly between punches. Tears stained her cheeks as she lunged forward, shoving her hands across Bickslow's eyes. As the green glow around her son subsided, she knew she had broken the control the elder wizard had over him. “Run, Bickslow!”

Afraid of opening his eyes, he did what she ordered. His eyes welded shut, he ran from the workshop, his hand dragging along the wall to guide him. When he was clear of the hallway, he opened his eyes, panting breathlessly. His father was dead. The words echoed in his mind, each repetition stinging in his heart like a dagger. He hurt his mom. She was bleeding and bruised where he hit her. His head was spinning as he tried to process everything. _Wait.... mom!_ He turned back towards the workshop, only to hear his mom shout to him.

“Bickslow, run! Get away! Hide!”

Those were the last words he ever heard from her. As he turned to hide, he heard a soul-wrenching scream, then a loud crash. His body was frozen in disbelief as everything went silent. With a painful gulp, he rushed to his room, scurrying beneath the loose floorboards under his bed. They led to a tunnel he had dug as a way to sneak out with friends at night, but as he struggled to seal the passageway behind him, the house began to shake.

“Where are you, boy?!” the angry voice of his grandfather cut through the silence above him. Bickslow's breath hitched in his throat as he ducked down, praying his grandfather was unaware of his hidden passage. He could hear the sounds of furniture crashing and skidding across the floor, his elder ferociously barreling through the house. The heavy footfalls grew softer and less frequent, then everything returned to silence. As Bickslow glanced up, pressing his hand upward on the floorboard, a bright green light blinded him. A second later, the verdant illumination crashed inward upon itself, bringing the house with it. Debris fell upon Bickslow as he was launched downwards by the burst of magical energy, a heavy timber pinned him to the ground. His eyes fluttered, filled with soot and ash, as he lost consciousness.

 

 

The rune mage clapped his hand to his mouth in shame as he watched the boy writhe on the floor, silently screaming in agony. With another wave of his sword, he dispelled the runes he had cast upon him. No longer under the Suffering Ecriture, Bickslow found his voice, blubbering and choking on the terror he had relived. The pony-tailed wizard offered a hand to the boy to assist him up.

“I apologize. I fear I may have gone too far,” he said shamefully, holding his hand out for the boy to accept. Instead, Bickslow growled and slapped his hand away, swallowing down his tears as he remembered how helpless he was, how he couldn't save the person he loved the most. _If only... If only she'd had a knight to save her... If only I were stronger..._

The younger boy held out his hand again, annoyed but apologetic. Bickslow brought himself to his feet, scoffing at the boy's apology. _He had no idea what he had done, yet he felt an apology would make it better. How dare he._ With an angry scowl, he lunged towards the boy again, fists swinging wildly. The other boy sighed, effortlessly knocking the obviously inexperienced boy back to the floor.

“I applaud your determination, however misguided it may be. I'm not your enemy,” he began. “I can tell you are a wizard, I can sense your magic energy. You should consider joining the Fairy Tail guild.” With the end of his speech, the boy turned and walked out to the street, turning a corner and stepping out of sight.

“Fairy Tail?” Bickslow whispered to himself, standing to brush the humiliation away. The diners that were spectating quickly turned back to their meals as if nothing had happened.

“Fairy Tail is a great guild, I've heard,” the waitress rushed towards him, dabbing his cheek with a cloth. He hadn't even realized he was bleeding. Her smile as she wiped the blood from his face calmed the rage he felt towards the humiliating loss, the anger escaping his body with a sigh.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, embarrassed.

“You should go catch him,” she winked.

“Oh, right!” He snapped to attention, rifling through his pockets for money to pay for the meal. The girl shook her head slowly, her smile widening.

“This one's on me. Go get him.” With a gracious nod, he rushed outside. As he caught sight of the green haired boy, he heard an angry shout from the kitchen, directed at the waitress for giving away a free meal. _I'll be sure to come back and thank her properly,_ he told himself as he sprinted to catch up with the rune mage, his totems bobbing along behind him.

“Hey, wait up!” Bickslow shouted to the boy, who turned around with a satisfied smirk.

“I see I got your attention,” he grinned.

“What's so great about this 'Fairy Tail' anyway? It sounds pretty girly,” he scoffed, folding his arms across his chest.

“I assure you, Fairy Tail is anything but girly. The strongest wizards in all of Fiore are within its ranks.”

“The strongest...? Really?”

“The best.”

“Pfft. Fine. Show me this Fairy Tail.”

“Certainly,” the rune mage beamed.

“Wait a second. Who the hell are _you_ anyway?” Bickslow questioned, realizing he was following this stranger without knowing who he was.

“I am Freed Justine, a Fairy Tail wizard,” he stated proudly, holding his hand up to display his guild marking. “This way. We must take the train to Magnolia.”

 

When the boys reached the front gates of the Fairy Tail guild, Bickslow stared up at the massive structure, completely speechless.

“Right this way,” Freed gestured, leading them inside. He sighed when he noticed a brawl was already underway, likely caused by the other youngsters scattered around the lobby. Bickslow could not believe his eyes.

“ _This_ is Fairy Tail?” he asked, totally confused.

“Indeed it is,” Freed sighed. “You get used to it, I assure you. This way, please. I'd like you to meet our master.”

The word 'master' caused a shiver to creep up Bickslow's spine. 'Master' is how he would have described his grandfather, with his ability to control others. With a loud gulp, he followed Freed hesitantly.

“Allow me to introduce you to Master Makarov,” Freed bowed his head politely as he gestured towards a very short man who was perched on the bar counter, a pipe in his hand.

“Who's your new friend, Freed?” the geezer asked as he took a puff of his pipe.

“Oh, um, forgive me. What is your name, exactly?” Both Bickslow and Makarov stumbled back in surprise, amazed that Freed had escorted someone all the way to the guild master without even knowing his name.

“It's Bickslow,” the boy mumbled.

“Bickslow? Bickslow what?” The master examined the boy with a skeptical eye.

“Just Bickslow,” he repeated firmly. There was no way he would ever use his family name again. He had no family. His grandfather made sure of that, and he never wanted to associate himself with that man ever again.

“Very well. Nice to meet you, Bickslow. What business do you have with Fairy Tail?”

“He was interested in joining, Master,” Freed chirped.

“I was asking him, Freed,” Makarov gave Freed a sideways glance, shutting him up. He turned to Bickslow. “Is that what you want? To join the guild?”

Bickslow nodded slowly, “Y-yes, sir.”

“Very well then. Let's get this over with. Welcome to Fairy Tail, my boy.” The master hopped down from the counter and darted behind the bar, returning to view with a stamp pad in his hand. “Where do you want your guild mark?”

As Bickslow was about to hold out his hand to be stamped, a feisty girl with long white hair and piercing blue eyes approached him. “Who's this?” She sassed, ruffling Bickslow's shaggy blue hair.

“Mirajane, this is Bickslow,” Freed stated calmly. “He's joining Fairy Tail.”

“Bickslow, eh?” she teased, staring at him. “His name is tougher than he is. He looks like a big softie,” she cackled as she walked away.

While it was true that Bickslow was no behemoth, the last thing he ever expected was to be called a 'softie.' As the sassy girl strutted away, he stuck her tongue out towards her. To his surprise, the guild mark stamper made contact with his outstretched tongue.

“As you wish,” Makarov grunted. “Welcome to Fairy Tail.” After putting the stamper back on the bar counter, he returned to his pipe, alternating puffs with gulps of beer from his mug.

“W-what?!” Bickslow stuck his tongue out and stared at it in disbelief. _This geezer had put a tattoo of a fairy right on his tongue!_ “What the hell?!”

“That's where you said you wanted it,” the master hiccuped. “Now if you'll excuse me, I have a date with the bottom of this glass.”

Freed let out a chuckle as the newest Fairy stared at his guild mark. “It suits you,” he winked, “Welcome. Make yourself at home.”

 

It didn't take long for Bickslow to do just that. Taking Mirajane's words to heart, he cut his hair and changed his clothes, attempting to look less like a 'softie.' His new appearance did just that, and his shy nature melted away as he grew comfortable with his new guild family. No longer quiet, he found himself at the heart of the crazy antics of the rest of the guild.

“You can sense it too, can't you?” Freed said softly to another mage as they watched a brawl from a corner table.

“Yeah,” the blonde grunted stoicly.

“The new kid is pretty strong. He could be quite useful to us. What do you think, Laxus?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Keep an eye out for the next installment, written by shadow_faye!
> 
> Comments and thoughts greatly appreciated. Let me know what you think!
> 
> <3 Caelore


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